


Butterfly Wings

by Hikou



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:18:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikou/pseuds/Hikou
Summary: She looked the same as the last time he'd seen her--rose thorns wrapped in tissue paper, but this time someone had wripped her wings off. [Seto/Kisara, One Shot, Character Death]





	Butterfly Wings

Her skin was just as fragile as he remembered it. The bones were too pronounced against it, ready to tear through it--rose thorns wrapped in tissue paper. Long strands of white hair, once woven out of moonlight, were now plastered to her face with the sticky texture of spider web. Her lips had never been pink, just some off-shade darker than her pale skin, but now they did not move. Her soul had fluttered like butterfly wings, but now they were still.

There was no question about it.  
  
She was dead. _Again._ And it was suddenly so painfully clear how much he had never intended it.

In even time he watched as knees gave way beneath this man that was meant to be him. In some other reality he was crying over her, howling into her hair. Some other him was trying to grieve her back to life.  
  
But only _Seto_ was himself.

This other man could not be him, and this just further proved it because Seto had not cried the first time he killed her.

-  
  
She struck him as unfathomably delicate, this girl before him. Her eyes were wide and endless, her spirit serene and so sure. Her soul glowed from every pore in her skin, wrapped around her body like gossamer--as easy to tear as butterfly wings.

She did not act like she knew who he was or what that flimsy slip of paper in her hand was supposed to be. She calmly shook her head at his money and his briefcase full of worthless monsters. She did not respond to his threats.  
  
She was entirely too unshakable for someone so small and weak, and it fascinated him for the briefest of instants.

"Why not?"

It was aggravating that she did not need to think about it. "My father told me to keep it before he died." 

Her father was dead. Her mother, gone. She had been left alone, stranded in this place with no one and no means to support herself. 

"Name _any_ price. You'll never have to work again." Plain, logical, Seto.  
  
"No." And to her, it was really just that simple. It was _natural_ for her to be loyal, and stupid, and infuriating, and good. It was natural for her to brutally emphasize everything he could never, and would, never be.  
  
"I'll get it one way or another," he recited the fact, but she only smiled at him, her breathing methodical and her face peaceful.

He made up his mind.  
  
-  
  
Sometimes Seto forgot that these were Gozaburo's men and that Gozaburo Kaiba pulled no punches. It should not have been surprising when one of them called to see if the body was needed. _The body._ He did not cringe. He told them to wait; he would be there shortly.

He would come to see her wings ripped off.  
  
He would come to see the smile wrested from her face, to smell the stench of blood and gore on the air, to feel the fading warmth left on her cheek. He would want to know exactly how long they had waited for her, how hard she fought back.  
  
He wanted to be able to visualize her being pinned to that brick building, imagine her cry when she raked her face down it. Someone needed to tell him why there was white bone sticking out of her arm, why her throat was cut _and_ her brains on the pavement.

He wanted someone to explain to him how it had all gone _so_ wrong _so_ fast.  
  
The smooth glass window of the limousine held no answers, but neither did their dirty faces.  
  
A feral sort of anticipation was hardening at the bottom of his ribcage, forcing his body into overdrive as he slid out of the vehicle. It could not yet understand there was no one left to fight here.  
  
Their postures straightened marginally as he passed, as if suddenly finding a need to raise themselves above the alpha wolf. There she was, fragile, and broken to pieces, and run through the middle, and bleeding on the pavement--rose thorns ripped through tissue paper.  
  
Seto opened her little bloodstained white coat and fished out her wallet. Those gathered around shook their heads as he pulled that gold-speckled piece of cardboard, embedded with blood and soul and raw power, out. 

He looked down at _the body_. His pulse hammered through his fingertips, against the card. 

It was enough to know the wings in his hand pulsed back. 


End file.
